we'll get down like no one's around
by achillius
Summary: she doesn't know who he is but she can tell that he's hot and the girls flocking around him are definitely not pretty enough to have the chance to sleep with him and she's always had high self esteem (and a low tolerance of alcohol) so of course she's already strutting over to him. —jason todd/oc


**Title:** _we'll get down like no one's around_

 **Rating:** NC-17

 **Character(s):** Jason Todd/OC

 **Word Count:** 2,371

 **Summary:** She doesn't know who he is but she can tell that he's hot and the girls flocking around him are definitely not pretty enough to have the chance to sleep with him and she's always had high self esteem (and a low tolerance of alcohol) so of course she's already strutting over to him.

* * *

She knows that she really shouldn't be spending time in a club right now with all her other business (namely drug trafficking) to take care of, but she misses it.

The alcohol and the people and the flirting and the smell of sex that linger on your skin hours after you leave the place. And occasionally, the person that, like the smell of sex, go home with you.

She shudders at just the thought of that because well, to put it bluntly, it's been a hell of a long time since she's been fucked. Don't get her wrong, she's definitely had her _alone time,_ and flirting with the guards the Belle Reve was especially fun since they couldn't keep their eyes off her when she was changing, but it wasn't the same.

So here she is, downing her third glass of Long Island Iced Tea (which is a horrible name for a drink that consists of rum, vodka, gin, sour mix, and coke with no iced tea at all) when she's groped from behind.

Any other sane women would scream out, yelling rape, but she's been craving this for so long and besides, it's not rape if she likes it, right?

Except, when she turns around, she's boob level with a man that should be on his deathbed. She feels kind of guilty for saying that, because the man is probably only around sixty but still. After the age of forty, it doesn't matter how old you are anymore. Only that you're old.

She's always had a thing for older men, courtesy of her daddy issues, but more like that gentlemanly salt-and-pepper hair, not gross, gray ones.

"Hello, my darling. Aren't you a fine piece of eye candy?" the man starts off, and she's even more disgusted, if that's possible. "Would you like to come back to my hotel with me?"

She's seriously debating whether to just walk away and handle it like an adult or throw the remainings of her drink in his face, but after remembering her immaturity and mischievousness, she comes up with an even better idea.

She gives a one of _her_ giggles and puts her hand on his chest. "Well, you see, I'd love to but my… You know, _parts,_ aren't working correctly. Like my other parts are done! It's just my part down there." She finishes with a sweet smile.

"Aren't working correctly? Done?" the man asks, a horrified expression quickly taking over his wrinkled face.

"Surgery, you know. Like my boob implants were finished like six months ago, and I got my nose and lips done first, of course. But," she dropped her voice down to a sultry whisper, bending down to the old man's height. "We can still do _other_ stuff."

Without another word, the man scurries away and she can't wipe the smirk off her lips. It quickly vanishes though, when she's realized that the only men who have hit on her so far was that kid who looked like he snuck into the club, a woman who had lipstick stained teeth, and that creepy old man.

"Have I really lost my charm?" she asks herself, looking at her boobs. "No. No, I have not. I just need a little something to get me going."

As she drunkenly stumbles towards the dance floor (it's only when it comes to being a lightweight that she curses having her mother's genetics), she spots a rather muscular and undeniably attractive man flirting with the girls all crowded around him.

She doesn't know who he is (she thinks she'd remember a face and body like that) but she can tell that he's hot and none of the many girls flocking around him are pretty enough for his standards and, well, she's always had pretty high self esteem (and low tolerance for alcohol), so of course she's strutting over there.

Puttings herself directly between him and the girl he was having a conversation with, she asks, "I'm Katie. You want to buy me a drink?"

He looks between her and the girl he was currently talking to and it's only takes a brief second before he orders her a whiskey.

"Jason. And you interfered with my conversation." He doesn't say it like it bothers him, but more like he's just stating a simple comment.

"If it was so important, you wouldn't be buying me a drink, now would you?" Katie teases, cocking her hip to the side, and smirking when his eyes followed the motion.

"So what are you here for?" he asks, standing up, gripping on hand on her hip and the other playing with the hem of her schoolgirl-like skirt.

"For a good time. What about you?" She responds, whispering in his ear and holding onto his biceps for support. Even if her four inch heels, she isn't as tall as him. "What are you here for?"

"I'm looking for the same thing you are. A good time. Although you've managed to ruin mine over there," his cerulean eyes flicker to this group of girls he was conversing with until I came along. "I was working on an orgy, or a threesome, at least."

She barely manages to conceal the prestigious snort that comes after picking up the shot of whiskey and tossing it down her throat.

"With those girls? You're lucky I came and saved you. I'm like your knight in shining corset and stockings. You would've been lucky to just escape with a minor STI."

"And you're better than those girls, how?" he replies, and Katie knows that _he's_ teasing her this time, not that she really minds since his hand had long dipped under her skirt and was now stroking the outside of her panties just where her- _oh!_

That little stroke of his thumb has the hair on her spine standing and the goosebumps on her arms more prominent, even though it was a bit humid in here.

He's probably really good at reading body language, or he's just extremely confident in himself because he's doing that same little stroke _over_ and _over_ while just looking down at her and god, that feels amazing; and it's even hotter they're doing that right in public (she's never really been an exhibionist, but an attractive man and enough desire can make a women do anything).

"How, Katie?" he probes, more softly now, even though what he was doing to her under that skirt was anything but. "Tell me how you're better than them."

This is particularly frustrating for her because she's never been the one to be at a lost for words, and she's always been the one in control.

But now that she's met Jason, all she can do is lean against his tightly wound body (the type that probably hits the gym every other day) and bite her hand to keep the pants and moans from being too loud.

"Let's go back to your apartment, yeah?" he asks, except it's not really a _question_ and that's totally fine with her because, as she just found out, she actually likes not being in control.

* * *

It's only when she's on the motorcycle that Katie realizes exactly how drunk she is and it's not really fun because she hates motorcycles and she doesn't even know who's helping her on (though she likes the sensation of her bare midriff being touched by his calloused fingers, whoever he is).

"Don't fall off the goddamn bike or I'll have a goddamn lawsuit on my hands," the man tells her in not an annoyed, but rather somewhat endorsing tone, and she's pleased to hear that it's Jason.

"Wow, and I thought after that scene back there that you actually care for me." she responds, feigning hurt.

"Don't be stupid." is his dead reply but he still makes her put his helmet on and tells her in a more serious tone to not fall off.

She obliges, wrapping her arms around his waist and leaning head head on his back. Jason doesn't oppose, it's a pleasant feeling for them both.

They arrive at her apartment not ten minutes later and she doesn't remember giving him her address but she's drunk, so who knows, and at this point, he could be one of those psycho vigilante crime stoppers and she wouldn't give two shits.

He's in a hurry to park and get off the bike and so is she because she would've fell if it weren't for him.

"Excited?" he asks, helping her up and practically carrying her to the elevator.

Once they were in though, Jason slammed her against the elevator with a smirk before pressing his lips onto hers.

"Excited?" she repeated, back to him. It was a wonder how she couldn't walk properly but could still make witty remarks.

"Don't talk." he commands, and once again, she follows his command, wrapping her leg around his waist. She has definitely missed this while she was away.

As the elevator doors open to level fourteen, she's hurriedly trying to type in her password while he kisses her neck and palms her breasts in a distracting manner.

She's pulling him by his hand to her room and and she spins him around before pushing him down on her bed while she undresses and he props an elbow up to watch in delight.

She's trying to be slow and sexy and provocative but she can tell he's impatient when he suddenly springs up and pulls down her panties before she even makes it onto the bed and when he doesn't know her bra is a front clasp, he just rips it off her (which kind of pisses her off because the bra was expensive but it was also hot).

At this point, she's so drunk that she doesn't know anything except the way his hands roam her body and how his tongue feels on her nipple and _god,_ this stimulation is way too overwhelming and it actually makes her want to cry.

She knows that this won't go on for long though, because he's desperate too. She can feel it, rock-hard, pressing just inside her thigh and she gives a little whimper and thrusts up, trying to grind and against his member and that's the thing that breaks him because after a hard bite to her breast that makes her yelp.

He finally enters her, in one hard thrust while his hand is between them, pressing against her clit and she's clenching around him in less than a minute (she swears that this is the fastest that anyone's ever made her come).

She thinks that he's going to stop right there but he doesn't, instead he changes the angle and it passes her g-spot by just a little bit and her hands tangle in his hair.

His lips move down to her neck, nipping and sucking, feeling the arch of her body.

"Fuck," she moans, tugging his dark hair. "Harder."

He bites down on the place where her neck meets shoulder and traces the bite marks with his tongue.

"That's not what I meant," she pouts, removing her hands from his head and placing them on his chest to push him up.

"I know." he responds, and she thinks that the look in his eye is apologetic before he dives down to her neck again, licking and nibbling the same spot.

He thrusts particularly deep and her ankle digs into his back while her hands grip at his bicep.

"This feels so good," she manages to get out through all her panting.

"I know." he repeats, his voice hoarse and breaths becoming more ragged by the second.

His pace picks up, making her throw back her head in ecstasy and it's only when he's positive she's about to come that he moves slows down, so that they're barely moving.

He's always loved the climax, the tease, the chase. The whimpers and trembling lips and doe eyes and begging, everything she's doing right now.

"Please, please please," she chants, and she sounds so _fucking_ desperate that he gives her (and him) what he wants by one final thrust of his hips.

She falls asleep a little after that.

* * *

When she wakes up, he's gone. Not that she expected him to stay.

She gathers up her clothing all strewn across the floor from heated night she just had before confusion strikes her.

She's only holding three articles of clothing in her hands. Her shirt, skirt, and bra. She knows she was wearing panties the night before (she remembers because Jason had take them off of her), but now she has no idea where they are.

Rummaging through her room to look for missing item, she finds a note.

 _You'll get your panties back the next time we meet. Btw, don't bother wearing them._ — _Jason._

Below that is an address and a time. 1268 Ellis street, 1:30 PM. Only an hour away. She showers and blowdrys her hair, then picks out a casual outfit.

And she didn't wear panties (like he told her to). Like she said, she surprisingly likes someone else being in control.


End file.
